Of Breakups and Burnouts
by WuHaoNi
Summary: Tony snaps.


**Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of Donald Bellasario. I'm just borrowing it for a short while. **

**A/N: This story takes place right after the events of Judgment Day. It also marks my first dive into long-chaptered NCIS fanfiction, so I'd love any feedback, compliments or criticisms. :) There will be a later crossover with House, MD, but no prior knowledge about that particular fandom is required. So sit back and enjoy the show!  
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_You stand in the line just to hit a new low  
You're faking a smile with the coffee to go  
You tell me your life's been way off line  
You're falling to pieces every time  
And I don't need no carryin' on._

_**XXXX**  
_

He sweeps his papers into the cardboard box and he doesn't care that most of it is going on the floor. Doesn't care that he is making a god-awful mess and people are staring at him because they have never seen Anthony DiNozzo as he is right now.

Tony stares down into the drawer with all of Gibbs' awards and wonders who is going to do that for his boss now.

And that is the straw that breaks the camel's back.

He takes the drawer out of the desk and dumps the awards onto Gibbs' desk. They give a satisfying thump and he throws the drawer itself down, causing Gibbs' lamp to go crashing to the floor.

This noise is satisfying as well, and suddenly, he wants to throw more things, to give vent to this horrible anger that has been building in his chest since yesterday.

He stomps back to his desk and dumps all of his things on the floor. And then, with one sweep of his arm, sends everything else onto the floor as well.

And then he loses it.

He whirls over to Ziva's empty desk, and it still has her photographs, and it is not empty and vacant, and he pushes her computer off onto the floor, and it smashes into pieces.

And he laughs; because none of this is funny, and he is pretty damn sure that if he doesn't laugh, he is going to fucking cry his eyes out.

Because it isn't fair.

And he is fucking pissed.

People are gathering, and Tony doesn't care, because they show no signs of stopping him, and there is no way to stop him as he goes over to McGee's pathetically empty desk and shoves _his_ computer onto the floor.

It vaguely occurs to him that McGee would have killed him.

And he laughs louder.

He spins around and begins to sweep more things off desks, unable to stop until someone grabs him round the middle and wrenches his arm behind his back hard enough to make him cry out in pain.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing, DiNozzo?"

It is Gibbs, and that enough is to stop the shaky laughter that is coming out of him.

"Hello, boss," he says, and then winces dramatically. "I guess I can't call you _that_ anymore. Hey, can I call you Jethro?"

"Get over here," snaps Gibbs, and Tony allows himself to be docilely led off to the elevator for a "chat", where he is absolutely sure Gibbs will tear him a new one.

People stare, and he can hear whispers break out as the doors close.

He doesn't care.

It doesn't matter anymore, because he will never see them again.

And he starts to laugh.

Gibbs slaps him upside the head. Hard.

The familiar gesture is enough to quash any remaining laughter. Tony snaps his jaw shut, feeling remarkably drained now, the adrenaline gone. He doesn't feel ready to deal with Gibbs and resignedly eyes his boss with tired eyes.

Gibbs crosses his arms, glaring ferociously at Tony.

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

_But I wish I were._

"I want an explanation," he orders.

Tony gives a halfhearted shrug, and slides his eyes to the very left of Gibbs' head. There is nothing to be said that hasn't already been said.

"There is no excuse for what you did in there."

"No," Tony agrees dully.

"We're going to see Vance."

"Yes."

Gibbs jabs the button and looks at him. "Are you all right?"

_Do I _look_ all right?_

"No."

Gibbs stops the elevator again. "Why would you do that?"

Tony looks at him bleakly. "Why not?"

"They're not going to be very happy with you."

"I know."

Tony reaches out and starts the elevator again.

The doors open, and Gibbs grabs hold of his arm again, leading him like an errant schoolchild before a principal. He pictures Gibbs holding him by the ear, and lets out a strangled laugh.

Gibbs gives him a funny look. "Mind letting me in on the joke?"

"Yes."

They are at the door of the Director of NCIS, and Tony knows it is time for him to face the music. Gibbs turns the doorknob, and Tony presses his lips together, ready for whatever Vance has for him.

The director listens to Gibbs' account quietly, without a trace of anger. He almost seems to be expecting it, and his lack of emotion is something Tony is envious of.

"Well, Agent DiNozzo, I don't know what to say," says Vance finally. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No," he says listlessly.

"Gibbs, anything you would like to contribute to the conversation?"

Surprisingly, his former boss does not, and shakes his head in the negative.

"Agent DiNozzo, payment for the repairs will come out of your paycheck. I am also giving you a month long leave of absence. As such, your position on the _USS Ronald Reagan _is terminated. On your return, I am ordering a psychiatric consult before you return to active duty. I will make you an appointment with a government psychiatrist, and I expect you to keep it."

"Yes."

"Very well. Wait outside."

He stands outside the door and listens as raised voices toss around words like 'unstable' and 'unhinged'. He wonders how all the words they use to describe him now start with the letters U and N.

Gibbs exits with a tight _un_readable expression, and crooks his finger, indicating that Tony follow. He complies with the natural obedience that has been bred into him from seven years of following the older man's every order.

_Don't do this._

_Don't do that._

_Don't die._

And Tony had done what Gibbs had said, because there was a certain sort of comfort knowing that Gibbs was _the_ man, that what he said was law. But that illusion is shattered now—and that is all it was, an illusion—because even the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs cannot fix this Humpty Dumpty.

Their team…no, their _family_….is broken.

And Tony cannot shake the feeling that it is his fault.

They walk down the stairs in studious silence, Tony refusing to even _look_ at Gibbs.

"Tony!"

Abby's voice stills him and he freezes as she bounds up to him, her eyes almost frantic with worry.

"I heard what you did," she says, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he lies.

She wraps her arms around him, and he chokes, gasping for air.

"Can't breathe," he wheezes.

Abby continues to strangle him, deaf to any protest.

"I'm having a party on Friday," she says, finally releasing him. "Ziva leaves Sunday for Israel, and I thought we might have a chance to say goodbye."

"Who's going to be there?"

"You, me, Gibbs, McGee, Ducky, and Ziva, of course."

Tony is shaken from his fatigued stupor long enough to actually register this fact as something surprising. "She actually agreed to come?"

Abby makes a _duh _face. "Yeah. You're coming, right?"

_Please forgive me, Abby. But I'm not doing this._

"Uh, Friday?" He furrows his brow and lies, "I'm leaving Thursday."

One look at Abby's upset expression reminds him why he hates lying to her. It's really like kicking a puppy.

"You are? Well, I guess I could move it to Wednesday…"

"Don't bother, Abs. Tony'll be there on Friday."

Gibbs' quiet voice startles him and he almost jumps out of his skin at his ex-boss' presence at his shoulder. Apparently Gibbs has been taking sneak-up-on-Tony lessons from Ziva.

"But he just said—"

"He lied," said Gibbs.

Tony internally winces at Abby's crushed face.

"Why would you do that, Tony? Don't you want to say goodbye?"

"Not really."

And he means it. The "party" would have the feeling of a funeral, the knowledge that this is the last time that they will ever see each other again. Sure, maybe they'll exchange Christmas cards—or Hanukkah cards, in Ziva's case—but they will never be Gibbs' people, his team.

A clean break is the best solution for everybody.

With this in mind, Tony starts to back away toward the elevator, deciding to cut his losses and leave his things lying on the floor of the squad room. He can come back later, when no one is around.

"Well, it's getting late," he says, trying to mosey. "I'd better leave."

"Let me walk you out to your car," Gibbs offers in that way of his that isn't really an offer, but a command.

Still, Tony tries to weasel his way out of the arrangement.

"That's all right, Boss, I can—"

"Wasn't an offer. Go get your stuff."

Tony rolls his eyes and does a one-eighty, high tailing it to his former desk in the hopes that the sooner he gets his things, the sooner he can leave. He accepts a hug from Abby, tells her that yes, he will be there on Friday and no, he isn't lying to her this time. He ignores the people that are talking about him and joins Gibbs on the elevator ride of doom.

Surprisingly, there is no talk. There is only silence, awkward and uncomfortable silence, but silence nevertheless. It follows them from the elevator and out to the cars, where Tony tries to find his baby in the rows of doppelgangers. Gibbs walks next to him, eyes squinting against the afternoon sun glinting off the windshields.

Finally, he speaks.

"I'll pick you up at one," Gibbs says, as Tony at last locates his car.

He nods, and places the box on the roof, searching in his pockets for his keys. The 'offer' is unusual, but Tony figures that Gibbs doesn't want him to disappoint Abby anymore than he already has. Or maybe Gibbs thinks that it'll be good for him to say goodbye. There's even the possibility that his boss knows that Tony is planning on drinking himself into an early grave, and that he'll _have_ to at least be sober on Friday.

Gibbs' reasons don't matter.

The bottom line is that Tony _will_ be at that party.

Carelessly, he carelessly tosses the box onto the passenger seat and slides in, closing the door and shoving the key into the ignition with savage ferocity. Gibbs raps his knuckles on the windshield, and Tony rolls the window down, feeling aggravated.

"_What_?"

"The next time you want to hit something, DiNozzo, buy a damn punching bag."

Tony's only response is to gun the engine and squeal out of the parking lot, driving in a way that would make even Ziva proud. He scans the streets for a liquor store, ignoring the beeps of aggravated drivers as he weaves through traffic.

The anticipation of the delicious mind numbing quality of the alcohol hums through his veins as he stops at the first store he sees and steps out, slamming the door loudly. It echoes like a gunshot around the small parking lot, and people stare.

Tony ignores them, and goes straight to the bourbon, picking out the first one that catches his eye. He pays the bored clerk at the counter and escapes to his car, taking a long drag of it with some quantity of relief.

"Happy birthday, Jenny."


End file.
